


Time breaks the threaded dances of lovers

by Gayforswimmerz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Blood, F/M, Immortal! Stiles, M/M, Reincarnation, Seti I, Unrequited Love, duh - Freeform, theres historical figures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 22:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7988869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gayforswimmerz/pseuds/Gayforswimmerz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was always warned never to get attached to mortals; the elders always reminded him that their lives were short, over in the blink of an eye. Any relationship forged with one would only end in heart break. However, it was only advised to not get attached, there were no rules saying he couldn’t mix with them.</p>
<p>----<br/>Stiles is an immortal once overcome by the human emotion of love, forcing him to make (what other immortals would call) a stupid decision in trusting a corrupt being in reincarnating his lover throughout time so that they would always be together. </p>
<p>No good can come from making a deal with a beast that is driven by hunger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time breaks the threaded dances of lovers

**Author's Note:**

> OMG   
> i have been writing this forever and i just wanted it over before i go to uni where my life will be over run
> 
> so have another fic filled with blood from me   
> it is mentioned 51 times i need help in writing a fic without blood D:
> 
> oh well...enjoy my babies
> 
> all mistakes are my own and im sure there are plenty

Stiles was always warned never to get attached to mortals; the elders always reminded him that their lives were short, over in the blink of an eye. Any relationship forged with one would only end in heart break. However, it was only advised to not get attached, there were no rules saying he couldn’t mix with them.

He mixed with the mortals as most of his kind often did, jumping from civilisation to civilisation, watching as they evolved in their ways. He never grew attached to one, fondness never entered his heart upon looking at one and neither did love. He was detached, something that was looked upon with pride by his kind, they believed only the weak grew attached to the supposed lesser beings.

He was in Egypt when it happened. When he experienced his heart lurch with a feeling he had never felt before, spreading though his entire being.

H[1]is kind were often taken for advisors to the leaders of nations and empires; their time on this earth had given them more wisdom than any human would ever hope to possess. His presence was always needed at the Pharaoh’s side. He was sitting on a golden stool besides Pharaoh Seti when _he_ walked in. He was a Medjai, newly trained and ready for service to the King. Tattoo’s adorned his tan skin from his oaths, sweat dribbled across his body as the sun traced his muscles with its relentless rays.

“What do you think of him, my Vizier?” Seti turned to him with a hushed whisper, a smile playing on his lips.

Stiles had to swallow because his throat had suddenly became dry; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the warrior, it was something lingering in the other’s eyes that made his chest ache, made his heart beat erratically. He licked his lips slowly, turning to face his king. “He appears strong. He will protect you well, my king.”

Seti laughed, his eyes creasing with amusement and old age. “Not me.” He turned to face the warrior once more so he could ignore any of Stiles’ objections. “You have served me well; your wisdom is unparallel to any other and with your kind being so rare to come across these days I cannot risk another kingdom stealing you from me. You are a valuable asset and you need protecting.”

Stiles had wanted to deny his request. He was confused by the warrior and all to things that had made him confused before he had always left them alone. But he nodded, said his thanks to his Pharaoh and left with the Medjai at his side.

Stiles felt ridiculously safe with the Medjai acting as his shadow. It was always a possibility that he would be stolen to aid another empire and he was happy that Seti valued his opinion so much that he has sought to protect him.

He was constantly followed, never alone even in his bed chambers. He was protected, yes, but he didn’t dare to look the warrior in the eye because he was afraid he would feel the twinge in his being again. His kind didn’t feel pain often, they were immune to diseases and any wound healed almost instantly; this pain rippling through his body was unnatural and he didn’t like it.

They were riding to the high court when the warrior chose to speak to him, before it had just been uncomfortable silence and obviously the Medjai couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you mind if I ask for your name?” He asked, looking at the dust that his camel kicked up with its feet. “I would like to call you something other than ‘Master’.”

He had hesitated at first, contemplated letting this man get closer to the walls that his kind had hidden behind for millennia, but eventually he gave his name, something he could no longer remember. Then he asked for his protector’s name.

The warrior had smiled, his teeth protruding in a happy grin. “My name is Duamutef.”

Duamutef. He was named after the protector of the stomach, the jackal son of Horus. He had laughed because it was a fitting name as Stiles had often seen him growl, sneer and bark at any potential threat.

It was this exchange of names that started the fire of their relationship.

They became more personal, closer and he couldn’t explain why. Stiles had started to turn away the chamber maids that dressed him in the morning and that bathed him and kept him company; instead Duamutef had been fulfilling their roles. His tanned rough hands softly covering Stiles’ pale body with his robes each morning after bathing him and rubbing oils into his skin. Stiles wasn’t sure when he became unafraid to look him in the eyes as he too helped the warrior with his robes and strapping his weapons across his muscled torso.

Their master-protector relationship was fast evolving into something deeper, something that felt forbidden and wrong. With every smile they shared, every brush of hands and lingering gazes, the feeling of dread grew bigger in his stomach but he didn’t stop anything, he felt like he would regret it if he did.

But when the Pharaoh died, he had never needed Duamutef more. The last wish of the Pharaoh was for Stiles to be buried with him so he could advise him in the afterlife and protect his fortune with his immortality.

He was sent for on the burial day, the bodyguards of the deceased King coming to fulfil the last request by hammering on his chamber door. Duamutef had protected him, fought valiantly and earned himself many wounds in the fight for his master’s freedom.

It was that night, miles away from the city under the leaves of a tree nestled at the edge of the desert, that Stiles’ realised it was better to love and lose it; the pure joyous feeling was too precious to dismiss. While watching his protector fight, while watching his blood spurt from his wounds he couldn’t help but think he would never feel his lips against his own or his rough hands pulling his body closer against him and how utterly terrible it would be to miss out on such experiences.  

After making sure that his warrior’s wounds were safe and had stopped bleeding he made his move. Leaning over the muscled torso of the Medjai he cupped his stubbled jaw; staring into his forest green eyes before softly and hesitantly giving him his first kiss.

It tasted like blood, sticky and metallic.

Their second kiss was much better.

It was in another kingdom, thousands of miles away from Egypt. They had travelled in odd spurts, moving through Israel, Syria and Turkey until they finally settled in a farm village on the outskirts of a city called Troy. The second kiss was light, hesitant still from both men but full of love. Stiles couldn’t wait to experience love for the first time especially with his Duamutef.

The village was quiet and quaint, nothing like the constant life from Thebes or Luxor. It was different but he thoroughly enjoyed it because after a hard day’s work he was able to crawl into bed and be enveloped by two strong arms that he hoped would never let him go.

No one asked questions as to where they came from even when the others in the village saw the tattoos on his love’s skin, the Medjai were known all over the lands and it would only take one person to ruin the little life they have managed to build. News travels fast from Egypt and he had already heard talk from the market that another immortal was roaming the Mediterranean Sea.

The rumours were soon swallowed up by the talk of war.

War was a human invention and was something he never truly understood, but he knew that nothing good could come from the Achaeans coming so close to them; they could destroy everything that they worked so hard to build.

“What is wrong my love?” Duamutef asked one night. He was standing in the doorway rubbing his hands together nervously while Stiles was sitting on the bed, staring at the floor in thought. “You are distant...is this because of the talk of war in the market place?”

Stiles didn’t dare to look at him. He didn’t dare to look at his warrior who was bias to the adrenaline of war, who didn’t see the aftermath like he had countless times. He stared at the pebbled floor of their bedroom, twisting his fingers into their sheets as if to ground himself. “I fear this war will be a great one, one that the Gods themselves will play a part in.”

Duamutef was quick to his side, on his knees and in front of his face with both of his strong, rough hands braced on his love’s knees.  “Do you fear your life will be taken in the cross fire, my love?”

He had almost chuckled-would have if it was under other circumstances that his love had forgotten the curse his people bear. “It is not my life I fear for...” He brought his freckled hands to frame Duamutef’s stubbled jaw, running his thumbs along the other’s cheekbones lovingly. “I wish to keep you away from the Gods for as long as possible. They will not take you from me yet.”

The warrior’s hands gripped the immortal’s knees in remembrance, his eyes looking away from the man’s above him. “Then we shall move- pack our things and leave at first light.” He turned to face him again, a smile playing on his chapped lips as he ran his fingers up Stiles’ thighs, tickling the pale skin where his tunic ended.  “I will elude the Gods to be with you for as long as possible.”

They had made love countless times before, exploring and drinking in each other’s bodies as if they had walked the desert for a thousand years with no water, never stopping even for an instant. As Stiles felt Duamutef touch every inch of his skin he couldn’t stop the familiar wave of dread and fear wash over him, he cried silently taking extra care to try and remember his love’s lips, hands, fingers- everything.

They never parted, even for a second. Their fingers never separated for even more than an hour as their souls simply wouldn’t allow themselves to be apart. Stiles sometimes forgot about his immortality, barely letting his mind stray from thoughts of Duamutef to question his purpose on this earth. 

They travelled from empire to empire, lands of heat to lands of ice. He had seen the places before; he had all the time in the world to do so after all, but there was something comforting and unbeatable about seeing the world with someone you love by your side, for the first time in his long life he was able to share memories, he finally felt as if he had found his place in the world.

But time is a cruel mistress and breaks the threaded dances of lovers in her jealousy.

It started with a few grey hairs followed quickly by laughter lines creasing at the corners of his love’s eyes. Duamutef couldn’t run with him anymore, couldn’t carry his belongings on his back. He got tired easily and slept for longer periods of time. Stiles didn’t see the signs until his Duamutef fell asleep and never opened his perfect forest green eyes again.

He had shaken him and screamed his name until his voice became hoarse with misuse, it took him too long to realise that his love had left the world, left to go somewhere he could never follow.

That’s how he was found, stroking his protector’s hair and whispering lullabies under his breath, staring into nothingness.

“Now that is unfortunate.” The voice had whispered to him. It was like the wind, quick and almost fleeting in its nature- he had almost missed it. “Has the immortal lost its toy?”

Stiles clutched Duamutef closer, his fingers digging into his tanned flesh with fear. “Who’s there?” Surely he hadn’t gone mad so soon from the loss? “Show yourself.” He ordered.

She had stepped out of the shadows as if it was a velvet curtain; her eyes were like the morning sun in nature, burning into him with such intensity that he almost looked away although he wouldn’t dare; the gaze she held over him was predatory, dangerous and above all- hungry. The elders had warned him of other immortals, those who feasted on souls of mortals in order to gain powers of mass destruction.

“Leave us. You shall not have his soul. Not now,” He growled, turning slightly so he had Duamutef behind him. “Not ever.”

His words were meant to be a warning to the beast standing in front of him but she seemed amused by his threats as she smiled widely, her fangs protruding past her lips. “I see your tribal elders still warn people of my kind.” She sighed, stepping forward without an inkling of fear. “I was merely going to offer my services.”

“What could you do for us?” He growled, still trying to warn her away.  “You’re a beast who desires nothing more than power.”

Her smile dropped as if she had been emotionally hurt. Impossible for someone of her rank; no one could obtain such power by taking lives and still have feelings.  “You wound me.” She whispered. “I was once in a tribe similar to your own. I was once in the same position as you currently are now.” She began to walk closer, Stiles let her. “I had experienced the grief; the pain...it felt like my whole being was torn apart.”

Stiles looked up from where he had buried his face into the now cold crevice of his lover’s neck, taking comfort in the scent that still resided there.

“No one helped me. They said it was my own fault for getting attached...” She frowned, her head bowing to stare at the floor, tears dropping from her face to land on the pebbles. “The loss of my love is probably what caused me to turn into...” the raised her arms, speckled with black veins that ran like rivers under pale skin. She seemed sickened. “This.”

Stiles’ eyes widened at the thought of him massacring millions with grief. The worrying thing was that he felt as if he could- as if he could kill thousands in pure anger, but he images of him slaughtering wave upon wave of men was brought to a halt as he thought of what Duamutef would think; he was a warrior trained to kill, yes, but he had never wished for Stiles to have blood on his hands and he definitely wouldn’t want him to become a kind of monster.

“But I can help you...”

Stiles suddenly looked up to find the corrupt immortal in his face. Her eyes were now shadowed by a cold, icy gaze that sent a wave of shivers down his spine, echoing along each of his ribs.  “H-how could you possibly help me?” he ignored his senses to run.

Her cerulean eyes flickered from Duamutef back to him, her face blank and unpredictable. “The power I possess can bring you together again. I can infuse his soul with something that can make him be reborn endlessly.”

It was a dangerous thing to be conversing with a corrupt immortal but it was a pure death wish to make a deal with one. “What’s in it for you? Creatures like you never do anything for free.” He spat, his hold becoming tighter with each breath the woman took, scared that she would rip Duamutef from his grip.

She stood up straight once more, her eyes flicking one last time to the man in his arms. “Love should last forever. I didn’t get my happy ever after, someone should.”

She spoke the truth: his love for Duamutef would be the only love he would experience in his life and he was sure that it would last forever no matter what, but was the love worth making a deal with such a heartless beast? There was always a catch even if she didn’t specify a price; Stiles knew he would have to pay in some way.

But if it meant he would see Duamutef over and over again, he would jump at the chance.

He swallowed sharply, honey eyes meeting ice as he nodded.

_-_-_-_-_-

It was century’s later in Rome when he saw him again.

He had been watching from the Emperor’s side, but this time not as an advisor but a ‘Puer delicatus’. He had not revealed his immortality to the Roman Empire and they did not need him too, they were growing rapidly and consuming half of the continent and spilling into others. They did not need his help which was good because he would not supply it.

He watched as the mortals played with each other’s lives for a frivolous attempt at entertainment, thousands would come to watch the Gladiators.

He was sitting on his velvet cushion, his eyes shutting with boredom, heat and tiredness that surrounded him at all times.  He glanced around, his eyes landing on the emperor tensing besides him, his fingers digging into his throne making taught veins appear under his olive skin  as his eyes narrowed on the fight below.

Stiles knew better than to ask what was wrong; he couldn’t feel the pain of a slap but he could feel the stab in his pride.

He got to his knees to look over the railing only to see a lone man surrounded by piles of corpses that were mutilated beyond recognition, their armour should have protected them but they were not wearing armour for a pile of breast plates and helmets were strewn across the sand followed by a splatter of blood.

Truly the warrior was a monster bound in human form.

“I charge you to remove your helmet. Let me gaze upon a face of power.” The emperor’s words were clearly heard over the hush of the crowd.

The gladiator did as he was asked, removing the rusting piece of metal that consumed his face.

Stiles had never seen a man so angry.

Blood splattered across his features where his helmet did not cover, spreading across his scowl and creased brow, framing the pink scars that littered his cheek bones and temples.

He didn’t want to believe it, but it was his Duamutef standing surrounded by thousands, with the body he once knew by heart covered in the lives of other men. He didn’t want to believe that this was the man that he was still aching for; he was merciless and cruel.

“The power you possess has been given to you by the God Virtus.” The emperor turned his head to the crowd, opening his arms as if to embrace them all. “Such power should not go to waste. This warrior shall protect me so I can continue to make our empire prosper.”

The crowd roared in appreciation for their leader but Stiles did not miss the heated glare from the warrior below, he had seen that look before: pure hate. The warrior’s power was not a gift from any god for he did not worship the same ones; his power was fuelled by hate, revenge and pain, common factors in a prisoner of war.

_-_-_-_-

Stiles and countless others were treated as possessions, so it came as no shock to him when he was lined up against a wall in the palace for the warrior to choose the first in his very own collection of bed slaves. The emperor was no fool, he knew of the warrior’s hatred for the city that served as his prison and so tried to bribe him in the one thing that tempted a man’s favour more than murder: sex.

“Anyone of these is yours to have.” They were walking down the hall; the emperor’s hands were behind his back in a calm manor while the gladiator’s were stiff by his side, unmoving except for the slight shake of anger. They strolled past the mix of battered and bruised slaves. They did not stop at any males or females so Stiles had half expected the gladiator to declare that he would find his own and that he did not need charity.

But when sandaled feet both soft and rough came into view from the bowed position of his head, he couldn’t stop himself from looking up only to be pulled into the eyes that still haunted his dreams. They were the same, slightly dim but still held the passion and fire that he knew in his Duamutef .

The warrior stopped in front of him, his eyes narrowing with what seemed like suspicion but no recognition lay in the crevices of his face.

And with that blank look, Stiles figured out what the catch was to his deal with the corrupted one. His love would not remember him; he would be reborn over and over again with no memory of the previous life, and more importantly his first one.

It made him want to keel over a scream into the marble floor, to curse every known god in every civilisation across the globe for it was not fair for this to happen.

“This one?” The emperor asked the warrior, pointing to Stiles. His lost love nodded, possibly due to his limited Latin but his expression was stern and unwavering. “I must say, you have great taste to match your great skill. This one does not bruise after being used, his skin stays perfect.”

The warrior nodded, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ face and body.

That night was the first time Stiles had been afraid with the reason being Duamutef. He was required to remain in his bed chambers at all times, being there for use of pleasure and nothing more, but as he sat on the bed with his cerulean robes pooling around his waist, the warrior made no advances like any other man would.

They just stared at each other from across the room, Stiles tried not to look him directly in the eye again as he was afraid that he would taint the fond memories he had by having the looks of love being corrupted by looks of hate.

“No.”

The word was small but it was broken, smothered by a strong accent that did not belong in Rome.

“Please not touch...you?”

The warrior seemed unsure of the words he was saying, he probably picked them up from overhearing women screaming at their rapists from the streets outside the amphitheatre. The words fitted the situation in a way.

Stiles tried to place his accent, testing various memories in his head from his countless treks over Europe before being dragged to Rome. He began muttering to himself in various dialects mastered in his long life.

“I can leave if you wish.” He spoke in Saxon. He couldn’t leave and go somewhere else, but he could always just wait outside the room.

The man’s head perked up at his words, shock etched into his scarred face, his eyes wide and unmoving from the man sitting on his bed.

“You speak my language?” The warrior asked, standing from his seat. “How?”

Stiles didn’t know why the words came out of his mouth but he couldn’t stop himself from saying: “I was taken from the north too.”

But after he let the words fall from his lips he thought that the lie was all for the best as he wished for his immortality status to be kept hidden until the emperor or the empire dies.

He hoped for the former.

It was silent for a while. Stiles had become tired and chose to lie across the bed, his limbs splayed out and his body relaxed. He was about to let his eyes close with tiredness but suddenly snapped them open as he felt the bed dip next to him. The Saxon was lying down next to him on his back, every so often risking glances at the boy lying next to him.

“My name is Dunstan.” He whispered into the shadows of the canopy above them.

Stiles had replied with a name he tries to forget.

“I believe this situation has worked out for the best.” Dunstan smiled slightly, his hard exterior slipping effortlessly.

Stiles perked up, leaning on his elbows to look down at the man that began to look more and more like the one he once knew by the second. “What do you mean?”

“We can help each other get home.” His head turned from the ceiling to give a toothy grin which made Stiles fall in love all over again. “I promise we will leave this place and I shall return you back to your family.”

Stiles nodded with a smile, trying not to cry with frustration that his family, the one thing that he desired above everything else in the world did not recognise him.

The friendship came easy to the pair, but the romance came even easier and at a faster rate than before. It was a celebration that pushed them over the edge, making them land in a velvet and cotton bed in a heated flurry of kisses and moans. Stiles had almost cried when he felt the mouth he remembered so well on his neck; sobbed as he felt the rough hands caress his lower back and hips. He had wished he could scar or not heal so he could see the evidence of love making littering his skin as to remind him that he was with love once again.

Stiles had risked it once. He had thought it would be a good idea to reveal what he was-what they were; Dunstan seemed to trust him enough and so with nothing else to lose, he attempted it.

“What is your opinion on immortals?” He had asked. His head was propped and resting on Dunstan’s chest with the warrior’s arm around his narrow shoulders, his hand absentmindedly tracing circular and interloping patterns in the sheen coating his lover.

Dunstan froze beneath him until his whole body began to shake and the look of pure anger took over his features for the first time in months. “You mean the tribes of beings that live forever?”

Stiles nodded shyly, not sure what he had gotten himself into; he had never seen this side of his love before, it seemed animalistic and primitive. His brow was creased in deep thought, his teeth gritting against each other as a small rumble of anger bubbled past his lips.

Dunstan breathed out through flared nostrils like an angry bull as he ceased drawing his own patterns on his love’s shoulder. “I used to believe they were myths, as if they were a line of Gods from a civilisation that doesn’t exist anymore. I used to believe there was no such thing as Immortals...”

“...Used to?” Stiles felt the air thicken with tension.

Dunstan tensed more if it was possible. “When I was seventeen a demon passed through our village...”

Demon- a word that was now used to describe the corrupted ones in Stiles’ race; different cultures had different names for them now, their numbers were growing and they were starting to be noticed by mortals.

“The demon...it killed a vast majority of my village. It slaughtered children, clawed at the elders and burned the rest. My sister and I were out hunting and collecting firewood when it came through...” He swallowed roughly as if he had to stop himself from choking. His eyes were unwavering from the canopy hanging over their bed making Stiles be consumed by a wave of guilt. “We came back to see it leaving our village with blood covering its body. My family’s blood.”

 “I’m...sorry to hear that,” was all Stiles could manage.

Dunstan ignored his words but nonetheless turned his head to gaze into Stile’s eyes. “Immortals are all sources of evil in this world. They have all the time to change and help the people in these lands but they choose not to,” it was an old belief that immortals descended from the heavens to aid man and to cure diseases and stop plagues in their wake, but they were not capable of such things; Stiles had tried countless times to stop massacres and epidemics, each time was fruitless.

“Immortals...I hate them. They have too much power and they wield it too freely and only in a way that suits them. The world would be better off without them.”

Stiles had retreated under the cotton sheets, turning so his shaking gaze would not meet Dunstan’s. The pain that resided there would be too much for him to witness; Dunstan had lost everything to a monster that was born from his race and anger.

Stiles had abandoned his plan to reveal himself to Dunstan and chose to live each day as it came, enjoying what he could with his love and making new memories to which he would cherish forever. He comforted Dunstan when he woke up screaming from nightmares plaguing his mind, he rubbed oils into his skin at night and bathed with him in the morning, they had a good life.

But they were still prisoners.

“I have a plan to assassinate the Emperor.”

He and Dunstan were sitting in their quarters eating their evening meal when the warrior had suddenly spoken out into the comfortable silence.

“W...what?” He could feel their simple life slip away with the mere thought of killing the emperor. It wasn’t a perfect life but at least behind the confines of the city walls they were safe from everything besides the grim reaper. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I don’t want to live here for the rest of my life.” Dunstan stood up from his chair, knocking the table making the food shake on its surface. “I want to leave and be free. Don’t you want the same?”

“Of course I do.” He replied quickly without even missing a beat. “But you’re proposing murder, Dunstan. You fail and you’ll die, is it worth the risk?”

Stiles stood up too, his fists clenching by his sides in a potent mix of anger and anxiety; he didn’t want to give up Dunstan just yet; he wasn’t ready and he never will be.

“To have my freedom?” Dunstan hissed as if he was offended that Stiles was even asking the question. “Yes! I thought you wanted to be free as well? What happened to going back to your tribe?”

“I have no tribe!” He screamed as he rounded the table to stand face to scarred face. “They’re gone! You’re all I have and I am not prepared to lose you, I refuse to go through that!”

Dunstan let out a roar of anger at the immortal and with a snarl he flipped over their table, throwing their meal and fruit to the floor in a flurry of crashes. He paused briefly, breathing heavily through his nose to stare at Stiles before turning and stalking out of the room, not looking back even once.

The ex-gladiator didn’t come back that night or the night after that. But after three nights, Stiles awoke to someone entering his room. The immortal couldn’t help but sigh with relief of his love returning to him. “Where in the pits of hell have you been?” He asked as the light flooded into the room, turning his attention to the figure in the shadows that was running their hand along a chipped fruit bowl.

“It all makes sense now.”

Latin.

“You knew his language. You spoke fluently with him; I bet it helped to plot the Emperor’s downfall.”

Stiles was too scared to move from the bed as he watched the figure stroll confidently to the open doors shrouded by thin curtains, gripping them tightly and ripping them down from their rails effortlessly. The light from the moon spilled onto the floor and the man’s face to reveal one of the Emperor’s guards. This one was born a stone’s throw away from the palace; he was dedicated to the role of protecting their ruler. A shiver ran down Stiles’ spine; his presence was a bad omen. 

“If you would be so kind as to come with me as the Emperor desires to speak with you.” He smirked.

Upon being thrown into the throne room, Stiles first noticed that the Emperor was facing the open doors that overlooked the whole city. But then his gaze fell to a pile on the floor, he almost didn’t realise what it was. Dunstan was lying on the floor in a slowly growing puddle of crimson stemming from multiple wounds that gnawed at his flesh.

“Close the doors.” The Emperor ordered to the guard behind Stiles, not even turning away from the view. It unsettled Stiles that he couldn’t see the man’s face.

The doors closed with a soft thud behind him leaving the three men alone surrounded by the metallic tang of blood.  He was too scared to move, the fear of losing his love again sat like ice in his bones.

Stiles’ gaze left the emperor to focus on Dunstan. Multiple wounds were littered over his body, accompanied by bruises of various sizes around the entry wounds of what he guessed were from daggers, but he was still breathing- barely.

 He was going to lose him again from the looks of the blood settling into his clothes and the growing puddle around him.

“Actions such as his cannot go unpunished.” The emperor growled still not looking at them and focusing his attention to his city. Stiles took this distraction to shakily walk over to Dunstan, wincing when he saw the bruises, scratches and dried-day-old blood on his face.

“Dunstan?” He whispered as he kneeled down to cradle his love’s head. He was terrified that this time he would have to watch as the light left his love’s eyes. Duamutef’s death was a peaceful one but he can’t imagine what pain Dunstan must be in as he lay choking out blood passed clenched teeth.

“R...un...” Dunstan managed to splutter.

But just as Dunstan had finished his order Stiles felt a cold hand grip the back of his hair in a terrifyingly hard grip, he did not feel any pain but he could feel the strength behind the hold on him.  “And neither can your actions go unpunished.”

Stiles heard the unmistakable unsheathing of the golden dagger the Emperor carried at all times, he had heard the unsheathing and cries from the dagger before in his few years besides the man.

Dunstan struggled on the floor, he couldn’t move as his bruised bound hands were tied in blood stained rope which bit into his skin, his swollen eyes were blown wide in fear as the knife moved towards Stiles’ neck.

Stiles felt the cold metal slice his throat.

But no blood bubbled past the gash in his throat because it never got the chance to leave his pale body. The wound that was left in the dagger’s wake had sealed behind itself before even a gasp left the victim’s mouth.

The Emperor had released his grip on Stiles’ hair, a smirk and a laugh occupying his lips as he waited to see the betrayer fall to the floor choking on his own blood.

But that never came. His eyes widened almost comically as Stiles turned to face him, his hand rubbing his neck as if it ached, no blood was on his toga- not even a drop on his skin. His grip on the knife went lax in his surprise; it clattered to the floor, echoing around the room that was consumed with stunned silence.

“W...What are you?” The Emperor demanded, retreating away from his victims, his eyes wide and shrouded by shock.

But the immortal didn’t answer: Stiles took this time to lunge for the knife on the floor, darting down and stepping quickly to close the distance between him and the ruler, burying the knife in the man’s neck to cleanly penetrate his trachea.

He scratched at the knife, his eyes wide with confusion as Stiles stood over him as he crumbled to the floor. He tried to speak, tried to breathe but it was no use; if he didn’t die from asphyxiation then he surely would by choking on his own blood that oozed from the knife wound sluggishly.

He just couldn’t help himself; it wasn’t often that he took a human life (in fact he could count all the people he had killed on one hand before that) but the Emperor had hurt his love and had tried to kill him too. An eye for an eye.

Stiles turned his head painfully slow to face Dunstan; he was afraid of what he would see.

He was afraid of seeing him lifeless- not breathing with his mouth blood stained and slack. But what he saw was worse.

Dunstan had crawled away from him, a smear of blood on the floor as he tried to retreat. He clutched his right arm to his chest, it was twisted and swelling with purple so Stiles could only assume it was broken. His leg was shredded as if a wild animal had been set on him and only pulled away so it could not grant him a quick and painless death.

Even with all of his wounds and injuries, Dunstan retreated from him as if he were the Devil himself.

“Dun...Dunstan?” He whispered, stepping forward slowly only to stop when he saw fear flood his lover’s expression.

“Don’t come near me...” Dunstan wheezed, tears streaking down his cheeks which removed some of the thick blood that coated his face. “You’re a m-monster.”

The immortal couldn’t help but allow a whimper pass his lips as he tried to reach the man, he needed to comfort him- to touch him one last time because he didn’t know if he would see him again. Dunstan didn’t allow it, he hobbled away from Stiles’ touch as if it burned, whimpering as if Stiles was the one who caused his injuries and pain.

“Dunstan.”

“Please...” the man whimpered, leaning against a pillar, his breathing becoming slow and his words were breathless and nothing more than a whisper. “Please...just leave me.”

The immortal had questioned waiting until the man actually died before embracing him because even in death he would still want to be with him, but from the twisted look of pain engraved in the man’s face, Stiles ran from the room, his feet taking him anywhere; he just wanted to forget the look on the dying man’s face.

_-_-_-_-_-

The cycle continued after that.

In 917 AD, Stiles watched as the Bulgarians destroyed the Byzantine army, the biggest slaughter he had seen in the middle ages. He had taken refuge in the latter kingdom, watching the humans and trying to forget his heartbreak that still haunted him. He looked onto the battlefield, walked across the dead bodies that littered the dirt mixed with blood. It was just his luck that he would see his love among the dead, his beautiful eyes unseeing and void of any light.

In 1066 AD Stiles had met his love on the battle field. He had stood next to him, taking in the stern look on his face as he scowled at the enemy. Stiles didn’t even get to say hello, he only watched as his love was brutally attacked and perforated by arrows.

 In 1125 AD he was captured in Georgia to be used as an advisor. When he was dragged kicking and screaming into the throne room of the palace he immediately halted his cries at the smirking face of the king. Demetrius, first of his name, was his Duamutef yet again recycled into a human body.

“This is an immortal?” He asked the guards, standing from his throne and descending the steps. “He is puny and somewhat sickly- nothing like the powerful beings I have heard about.” He turned his back and with a flick of his wrist he ordered the guards to have him washed and clothed and put in his chambers.

Stiles served him well, aiding his military advances and political system which led to a well structured and prospering country. He was his right hand man, used for every one of his desires.

He remained detached, relearning his peoples’ views on the mortals as he tried to stop himself from actually caring for the man again. He stood by as the king fathered children with a woman he does not even remember and he allowed his body to be used if the king wished for it. But in 1156 AD, he let his self teachings go to waste as he crumbled at the king’s side as he took his last breath, his hand going limp in Stiles’.

Of course he fled after that, he didn’t want to be in the kingdom if _he_ wasn’t there.

In 1330 AD, Stiles had literally run into his love in the streets of France, making him drop the bread and cheese he was carrying. Stiles was a doctor at the time- giving into the stereotype that his kind were there to aid the healing of the sick and wounded mortals. He had brought him a large loaf of bread and the best cheese he could find to compensate.

After the run in with each other, they couldn’t stay away. Their friendship had bloomed into a beautiful rose that was kept hidden from the prying eyes of the public- their sort of relationship was almost unheard of- frowned upon.

But after nineteen years of secret touches, whispered declarations of love and treasured nights together, Dizier had contracted the plague, died and within the week was carted off the mass grave with the other victims of the disease.

Stiles had expected it.

In 1492 AD he landed in the new world in a foolish attempt to find India. When he buried his feet in the sand he knew that with him away from the mass crowds Europe, Africa and Asia it would be less likely for him to meet any reincarnation of his love.

But as soon as he met the chief of the local natives, he was proven wrong. Chief Dyami was a mighty warrior and most of the Spanish men feared him except for Stiles; he had walked into the tribal grounds and bowed before the chief, not yet accustomed to their language he could only smile to show he was not a threat. The chief smiled back. 

But within in the year the mighty chief died from small pox in Stiles’ arms.

After that he returned with Columbus back to mainland Europe with his sights set on finding his tribe, he finds no one.

In 1666 AD he encounters another nameless form of his love in the great fire of London. He only saw him for a brief period of time before the bearded man ran into a burning building bursting with screams. When the house collapsed, so did he.

It continued like that, he travelled the world with the cruel hands of fate pushing his love towards him wherever he went, he sometimes regretted even meeting Duamutef- he even regretted not being sealed in Seti’s tomb because he would have never fallen in love and so he would have never made that deal to reincarnate his love over and over again. He met him on war fronts, streets, ranches and even in the middle of the ocean on an ‘unsinkable’ ship. He couldn’t escape him or the pain that followed.

In 1978 AD, after David had been a victim of a hate crime for their relationship in North America, Stiles finally found people from his tribe; he was a beggar at the time sitting with no belongings and the rumour of his homosexuality stopping him from getting any job.

The man had taken a liking to the mortal name of ‘John’; he was an old immortal- an elder that had left the burden to someone else so he could travel the ever evolving world with his wife, Claudia. Stiles remembered them briefly in his childhood as they left before the stump in his life occurred: when he stopped aging for good.

“Look, kid...” John had started, turning to his wife. “ Its sketchy for a young kid like you to be travelling alone since it looks like you stopped aging pretty young-“

“Lucky.” Claudia joked, nudging his side with a smile.

“So we had the idea of you travelling with us- posing as our son or something so no mortal gets suspicious. Besides...” John frowned and took his wife’s hand. “It’s terrible travelling alone.”

That’s how he was embraced into the ‘Stilinski’ family, hopping from state to state every couple of decades as to not let the mortals catch on; in this time period they were referred to as ‘super humans’ or ‘superheroes’ and were very valuable apparently, rumours spread around his people that government officials experiment on them in bazaar and twisted ways but...he liked to think they were fake.

In 2003 the unexpected happened.

The three of them settled in a small town called Beacon Hills. Its population was low but growing and it had this pull that none of them could explain, they were happy with a nice house in a quiet neighbourhood, John had gotten a job as a deputy and Claudia was a nursery teacher. Stiles tended to stay at home and out of sight unless it was going to school in a town a couple of towns over to try and maximise their stay; he didn’t need people asking why he never aged and was stuck in Beacon Hills high.  He had started to act like an actual kid not a man whose life has been consumed by pain and death; it was in Beacon Hills where he truly began living. He gave up the name that he hated and went by a nickname, he was reborn.

When he came home one night he was delighted to see that Claudia was home, her blue jeep parked neatly in the drive way. He had walked through the door with a greeting and met her in the kitchen.

Only she had her eyes open in fear, her mouth slack with confusion as her lips tried to form words but no sound passed them. “Who...Who are you?” She asked shakily, lifting a bread knife from the kitchen surface.

“Claudia...it’s me...” He gave her the name that haunts his nightmares. “Remember? I travel with you and John...”

“You’re a liar.” She ground out, lifting the knife above her head. “We have always travelled together- no one else but me and him.” She whimpered, Stiles guessed the situation must’ve been taxing for her as tears started to trickle down her face. “You’re human, aren’t you? J-just FBI trying to take me away...”

Stiles was overcome by confusion because his people usually had amazing memories as he himself could remember Ancient Egypt as if it were yesterday. The boy raised his hands in defence as he slowly stepped towards Claudia, reaching for the knife. “Just give me the knife and we can talk about this.” He wasn’t in danger but a knife was distracting nonetheless.

“Get away from me!” Claudia screeched as she slashed the knife angrily through the air, catching Stiles’ palm in the process of her random attacks.

“Claudia!” Stiles tackled her to the floor, trying to restrain her attacks and trying even harder to ignore her shrieks of pain as he gripped her wrists.  “You need to snap out of it! It’s me! You know me!”

“I don’t know you! I need John!” She screamed back, her voice becoming hoarse.

She only relaxed when John came home, her thrashing immediately ceasing as Stiles got off her so John could calm her down. “What are these?” John had asked, delicately holding his wife’s wrists, she whimpered as he pulled her closer whispering about pain into his ears.

The marks were purple in colouration, standing out brilliantly against her pale flawless skin. They were not used to blemishes or scars because they were incapable of getting them so John and Stiles could not fathom why Stiles’ tight grip caused bruises to bloom.

They called in the leader of their tribe, a doctor who was in America with them and countless others of their people that chose to scatter themselves. She did tests that she usually preformed on mortals, various scans and blood samples were taken of the woman he thought of as a mother.

“I just don’t understand.” The leader had expressed her confusion, running her hands through her hair. “She is incapable of injury- any contraction of disease cannot occur and yet...”

“What?” John asked, curling his hands into a ball so tight that his skin started to turn as white as chalk. “What’s wrong with her?”

The woman sighed shaking her head in such a way that Stiles knew that there was no hope. “She has a human condition called frontoltemporal dementia. It’s quite rare but it’s where the frontal lobes of the brain- that control emotions and behaviour in a person, among other things- die and shrink causing difficulty with language as well as radical behaviour...”

John could only gape at the doctor, his hands itching to hold his wife’s but couldn’t since she was strapped to a hospital bed- a place that she never should have been.

“Humans can live with dementia, right?” John questioned, his voice wavering with uncertainty. “She’s immortal; she will be able to push through this. We can’t die.”

Their leader looked up at them, a frown stretching across her lips and her face twisted into heartbroken expression. She reached across her desk to take hold of both of their hands. She was being their leader now, not a doctor.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen.” She bit her lip as if to stifle a sob. “Claudia will not survive this. I have notified the grand elders to inform them that the first immortal ever has taken ill.”

In 2004, Claudia Stilinski died. She was the first but certainly not the last to do so.

John had taken to drowning himself in alcohol to such an extent that he got drunk most nights, folded over his desk and drinking till he sleeps to wake up and start the cycle again. Stiles couldn’t help but feel he was trying to see if he could die to join his wife, if he were human he would’ve been dead long ago.

Stiles didn’t know her as much as John did but he still mourned her death.

-_-_-_-

Months after Claudia’s death, john had burst into Stiles’ room with fear burnt into his features.

“Don’t you feel that?” He had asked with his shaking hand gripping Stiles’ door handle with such a grip the boy was scared that it would bend in the man’s hands like butter.

He had felt the cold running along every nerve ending in his body. Scratches against his ankles and whispers from the shadows that made him want to whimper. He felt scared, full to the brim with a body shaking fear that made him want to be locked away out of harm’s way and he had no idea why.

That was until his father was called minutes later to aid in a suspected arson case. A whole house had burnt down with a family trapped inside with only three survivors, one of them being a literal burnt out shell of the man he used to be.

-_-_-_-_

After seeing the death that plagued this earth, knowing it was possible it could touch him now, Stiles vowed to live each day to the full, to live a human life full of adventure; he didn’t want to sit around and mope- he wanted to live for the first time in his awfully long life.

That’s the reason why he sneaked out to find a body with a human he had grown quite attached to.

Scott was a good kid- naive and not really the sharpest tool in the shed but Stiles had found a brother in the mortal, which was yet another bond he would be devastated in losing.

He dragged Scott off in to the middle of the woods that surrounded the small town, his feet crunching through the frost bitten leaves as the night air loomed heavily over them. It was humid, thick and strangely warm- the familiar atmosphere that hung over a dead body.

Scott had whined, panicked and tried to refuse the adventure like most humans would since not many teenage boys wanted to see a dead body.

Long story short, Stiles and the sheriff department weren’t the only things lurking in the shadows of the trees that night.

 Scott had contracted the infection of lycanthropy through the bite of an alpha werewolf- something that Stiles thought was a myth as he had never in his long life met a shape shifter, but he figured if immortals could roam this earth then so could creatures of the moon.

He researched in the old leather bound books that littered his house in secret places as well as the internet to which he was confused about the level of stories that surrounded the creatures, he almost felt ashamed for not being around or witnessing any of these amazing tales.

But he welcomed the new experiences of the supernatural for that is how he had met Derek. 

The first time he saw him was when he was searching for Scott’s inhaler the day after the bite and god- he looked beautiful. No matter what, every time Stiles came face to face with his love it always knocked the breath from him, his throat became dry and his palms became sweaty in a mix of anxiety and pure love. Stiles always had to restrain himself from running into his arms and whimpering into his chest because he knew that his love never remembered him- nor believed him about his immortality, he had even told him once in 1692 AD and it had gotten him trialled and drowned as a witch. He let it go.

He looked exactly the same as he did in Stiles’ nightmares and dreams. He remembered his lips, eyes, nose- everything perfectly as if he were holding Duamutef yesterday. He could never escape this man, it was his fate to live with him and watch him die over and over again and he had accepted that.

 He had loved Derek since he had met Duamutef for they were the same person; they were just altered by time and influenced by their experiences.

Derek was quite a lot like Dunstan; he was a man of very few words and had a horrid childhood to blame for that just like the Saxon man.  Stiles tried countless times to actually break down Derek’s walls with gentle encouragement and sympathy, but when the werewolf snapped you bet your bottom dollar that Stiles snapped back. He gave Derek no wiggle room to walk all over him, he matched his snarls and shouted back when he was wrong; they were equals now since no one was a slave or a king, they were just two supernatural beings trying to find a place in the world.

But besides their looks and attitude, Stiles couldn’t help but notice another attribute that all of the incarnations of his love have shared: they all met a terrible end within a couple of years after meeting him.

So he stayed away from Derek, or at least he tried to. It was as if the werewolf was attracted to him like some sort of angst magnet, as if Derek’s angst was attracted to his own. He went out of his way to insult him and even wish for his death a couple of times out loud in an attempt to try and repel him. Nothing seemed to work- hell- even his uncle offered Stiles the bite to join his pack and be a part of a group of beings that relied on and emotional and physical attachment to survive: it seemed he couldn’t escape their bond no matter how hard he tried.

“I’m going to offer you the bite.”

The words had sent a shiver down his spine, a fire igniting in his stomach as Peter had stepped forward making him shrink away into the shadows of the deserted car lot.  He shook his head, his mouth hanging open in fear- he wasn’t sure what the bite would have done; many things could easily corrupt his immortal soul and so when the bite would’ve taken, he may have been transformed into a monster.

“But you’ve got something else going on inside those veins of yours, haven’t you?” The alpha stepped forward successfully invading his personal space once again. “I can smell it. I smelt it when I first met you in the hospital- Alpha senses. Scott or Derek wouldn’t be able to figure out that their weak little human may not be so weak after all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stiles tried to control himself, to keep his heartbeat under control but to no avail. Peter smirked at his obvious lie as well as the fear that was rolling off his body like a violent wave about to crash onto the shore. He dragged his nails over his palm to try and stop himself from backing down from the alpha- something else to focus on.

Peter only looked at him up and down, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes swell with a sour lust that made Stiles want to hide just by merely looking at him. “Whatever you are...you smell delicious.” 

With that said, Peter then receded into the shadows leaving Stiles hyperventilating up against the side of a Toyota Yaris.

So Stiles tried even harder to stay away from all the Hale family after that but damn the angst magnets were just too strong.

Derek came to him in the middle of the night after he made a foolish attempt to wipe out a ghoul infestation by himself. His bloody hand slapped against the immortal’s window, he was choking and gargling on his own blood from the deep neck wounds he had sustained. His torso was in shreds with each thick, deep wound being connected by rivers of crimson that dribbled down his muscles. He was in his human form which made Stile worry even more because if he couldn’t even maintain his beta form then it showed just how weak the alpha was.

Stiles thought he would lose him that night. He was shaking as he dabbed Derek’s wounds, the man himself laid panting and shifting breathlessly on the immortal’s bed sheets that were consuming Derek’s life’s blood.

He had tears in his eyes, biting his bottom lip, holding gauze in one hand and rubbing his other on Derek’s cheek in a comforting motion. “You’re not going to die...” He whimpered, not sure just who he was talking to.

Derek’s eyes opened, completely swallowed up by pain but also with an emotion that Stiles thought he would never see in those eyes again.

Love.

The werewolf disregarded the wounds biting into his flesh, slowly sitting up as if he was scared by Stiles’ actions and not the pain flooding through his system. He brought a shaking hand to the pale boy’s cheek, rubbing his blood stained thumb under the boy’s eye while his fingers traced the constellations on his skin that he unknowingly had done a thousand times before. A smile- the damned smile that Stiles hasn’t seen for over half a century spread across his rouge lips, just a slight upturn of the lips- enough to show his dimples that were shrouded by the shadows of his beard  but Stiles knew where they were; he had always known.

He was not ashamed to say he cried when Derek leant forward to gently press his lips against his own. Just a gentle brush of the lips to start off with, hesitant and unsure accompanied by his hand softly tracing patterns into his skin as it receded to the back of his head, stained fingers tangling themselves into the chocolate tresses, spreading sweetness through Stiles’ soul as it became reunited with its other half.

The immortal shivered as an odd sense of déjà vu rippled through his memories. He almost laughed bitterly as he remembered kissing Duamutef in this exact scenario.

The pair kissed, caressed and held each other until it was too much, opting for just sleeping in each other’s arms, protecting the other from all harms that the night could bring.

But when Stiles was awoken by the sun’s touch, Derek was gone with only blood stained sheets, curtains blowing over an open window and heartbreak to show he was ever even there.

Stiles had met countless incarnations of his love that seemed ashamed of him, in many lifetimes he was kept a secret; their relationship was something that the other could always lose his life to with hate crimes, social expectations and opinions of others to think of. So Derek running away was expected but it didn’t hurt any less.

They ignored each other for quite some time, both of them missing the broken and unsure gazes of the other. Stiles missed Derek lurking outside of his window to make sure the immortal had fell asleep and was safe while Derek missed the hope slowly draining from Stiles’ eyes as he continued to act like he didn’t exist.

_-_-_-_-_-_

It was a couple of weeks later when Stiles found his old photo album engraved with a name that he held little attachment to.

He remembers the beautiful day where he could afford to take a photograph. It was in black and white and yes, he had to stand still for a bizarre period of time but it was worth it because he remembers seeing his love unveiling himself from underneath the black photographer’s cloak.

That one photo was the first of many kept in the book that had never left his side on all of his travels. He almost felt bad for forgetting its existence.

That should’ve been his first clue; he was forgetting things. He took notice of his wounds though.

There was a rogue reaper in Beacon Hills, it was wreaking havoc on the good souls that occupy the small town and its scythe was toxic to anyone who was unfortunate to touch it, whether their time was up or not. Stiles only thought he gained damage because it was a divine weapon forged by the gods themselves so he thought nothing of the deep wound carved down his back; he was immortal after all so it healed up after a week or so.

But when he sliced his finger open while dicing herbs for Deaton he could only stare at the bubbles of crimson arising from his skin, staring at them with a look that could only be perceived as pure confusion; it had never happened before, any blood that managed to escape his wounds only saw day light for only a couple of milliseconds before his body knitted itself together.

“Is everything okay, Stiles?” Deaton had asked as he placed his own knife down to inspect the cut himself.

“Yeah...” Stiles hesitated to answer; he didn’t want his cut to heal up in front of Deaton; it would be too much to explain. But the cut just stayed open, taunting the boy with mortality as the air wove itself into the wound causing a hiss of pain to escape his lips. “Everything is fine.”

Everything was not fine.

He started to tire easily, fatigue settling in his bones and not leaving no matter how much sleep he had. His memory also started to fade- some days he struggled to even remember the tattoos that littered Duamutef’s tanned face so he took to drawing them and writing about Duamutef and his reincarnations just in case there was a day that he forgot what he got up for in the morning, so he could always have something since Derek had chose to ignore him.

-_-_-_-

It was three weeks later when he felt the tremors rattle the earth, shaking his bedroom as well as his whole house. They were accompanied by ice, a frost that physically blanketed the whole of Beacon Hills to make it look like a fucking winter wonderland in the middle of summer.

Stiles knew who, well, what had the power to do such an act. They had grown stronger since their first visit to Beacon Hills, causing unnatural phenomena to display to the community that believed in their existence, as well as to their own kind, that they are powerful and don’t give a damn if they get found out. It was a warning to leave them alone while they hunted.

Stiles knew they were bad news and chose to hide out of sight until he stopped shivering. The pack knew something was wrong, they were always on edge and even suggested staying together- sleeping buddies and pack nights that meant that no one was ever completely alone just in case the evil- whatever it was- attacked.

Stiles had rolled his eyes; he knew that a corrupted immortal wouldn’t cause any trouble unless they had something to offer it. If they just lay low it would leave well enough alone and be on its merry way once it sees there’s nothing worthwhile in Beacon Hills.

This plan landed Stiles and Derek sleeping in the same room for nearly a week. He had tried to explain that he didn’t need Derek and that he had his father, but that reason went down the drain as his father was ordered to look into some vandalism in a field that caused no crops to grow. Freakin’ hooligans.

So after a couple of days in silence, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore and broke.

“How long is this going to go on for?” Stiles asked sighing, crumbling to his mattress while keeping his eyes on Derek who was facing away from him on a fold out bed.  “We can’t ignore each other forever, Derek. What happened between us that made us like this?”

The werewolf said nothing; he only lay down on the bed and pulled the sheets up around his waist, shuffling into his pillow to get comfortable.

“Derek.” It wasn’t a question but a statement to let the man know that Stiles was not going to let this go.

The man sighed, his back tensing as he realised he couldn’t run from this any longer.  Derek rolled over on the small bed to stare at the ceiling, absentmindedly rubbing his arm. “I took advantage of you.”

“You did no such thing.” The immortal didn’t even miss a beat; he was on his feet in front of Derek in an instant. “If I didn’t want to do anything I would have pushed you away- or said no for that matter. You know I’m not the kind of guy to just lie back and take I- I’m going to stop talking now...” he blushed, he wasn’t sure when he lost his brain to mouth filter but he could recall it vanishing in the nineteenth century.

Derek exhaled out of his nose, his eyebrows knitted together in anger- Stiles wasn’t sure who it was directed at.  “All I smelt was lust, Stiles. You don’t want me the same way I want you.”

The immortal almost choked on his own saliva as Derek turned to look at him, those impossible eyes held so many emotions that it made Stiles want to gasp. “How could you believe that for a second?”

“What?”

“Derek, I’ve been in love with you ever since I saw you in the woods.” He stepped towards the bed, his hand shaking in anticipation of touching the other’s sweltering heat that always encased his body. This was it; if his love was ever going to believe him about his immortality it would be Derek; who could understand the supernatural better than a werewolf?  “Derek...I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, ever since the-“

The werewolf failed to hear him. “That’s where you are wrong.” Derek growled, his eyes bleeding red as he flew up to tower over the smaller of the two, slapping his hand away in anger. “You’re some stupid kid! You have no idea what love is like or how it hurts! You just jump right in and disregard the consequences...” he panted, clenching his fists together as if to stop himself from sprouting claws. “You don’t know what love is.”

Stiles could only shrink back and stare at Derek. He didn’t think about the pain in his arm from Derek’s slap- the fact that he could feel physical pain should’ve had him on red alert but no, all he could focus on was the agonising pain from deep within his very being; it felt as if his soul was being torn out with as much malice as possible.

Stiles knew all too well what love was. Love was waiting centuries to catch just a glimpse of your lover and being satisfied with that glimpse. Love was trying to defy the celestial powers that ran the world- evading Gods to spend as much time with each other as possible.

Love was an emotion he never used to be able to feel but after looking into the same eyes for centuries, Stiles knew that the only emotion that could make his heart beat with such ferocity could only be love.

But those words coming from Derek felt like a slap in the face.

“Yeah...” He breathed, pulling his aching arm to his chest. “I know nothing...”

“Stiles...” Derek winced as he smelt the pain and torment rolling off of the boy, reaching forward only to be stopped by Stiles turning his back to him. His voice cracked as he spoke the other’s name, his wolf whining as he saw the expression of betrayal burnt into the Stiles’ face.

“Just go to sleep, Derek...” Stiles crept into bed and turned off his light.

-_-_-_-_-_-_

He had no desire to sleep in the same room as Derek so as soon as the werewolf’s breathing evened out Stiles softly climbed out of bed and headed downstairs with his album in tow. He believed memories of a simpler time were needed, when people loved with little explanation, when a simple gaze from across the room took his breath away.

Flicking through the book, it scared Stiles how much he didn’t remember. It was as if an unholy frost had taken over his brain, freezing and thawing out his memories in different patterns each day; some days he could remember Venice in the seventeenth century but then those memories were soon swallowed up by the streets of White Chapel in 1888. It terrified him; immortals were famous for their memories, the only case that was ever reported about one losing their memory was Claudia and that terrified him to no end.

He would call his tribe leader in the morning but he needed comfort first and the photo album sitting in his lap offered just that.

The comfort, however, was short lived for Stiles only managed to get a quarter of the way through his memories before ice kissed the back of his neck and a blanket of shadows overcame his senses.

_-_-_-_-_-_

“What an unfortunate turn of events.” The voice was rough and like a hurricane, tearing through the darkness like a sharpened knife. Stiles had a feeling that he would never forget that voice for as long as he lived.

“Who’s there?” Stiles barked into the darkness that enveloped him. The air around him was metallic as if he was surrounded by a slowly rusting metal, making his mouth water at the back of his throat by the sourness of it all. His hands were tied and his arms were wound around a thick and cold metal pipe. Every time he tugged against his restraints he hissed in pain; it felt as if multiple needles were buried beneath his skin and eating away at his nerve endings. “Show yourself.”

A cackle tore through the shadows like a sharpened knife cutting into flesh. “Now now... don’t be rude.” Heels began to click across the stone floor beneath his legs, their echo softened by water. “But then again, what should I expect from a rat who called me a- what was it? Oh yes! ‘A beast who desires nothing more than power...’ you still wound me.”

Brilliant, glowing blue disks appeared in front of his face, close enough to smell the foulness of the other’s breath. It smelt like rotting meat, the tang of a week old corpse.

The smell of a corrupt being.

“You...” Stiles growled. He could practically feel the power the other was swimming in; a lot had changed since he had last seen her.

“Me.” Stiles could only imagine her toothy from the giggle he heard from the demon.

“What do you want with me? Why come here now?” He needed answers and he needed them now, sitting up on his heels Stiles tried to make himself look bigger and more threatening to the other immortal, but he felt like a Chihuahua trying to intimidate a hell hound.

“Girls gotta eat.” She giggled. “And I’ve been looking forward to this meal for centuries.” 

“You can’t have his soul.” Stiles was pulling against his restraints like a caged, wild animal that hadn’t seen the light in weeks. Blood was dribbling down his fingers in thick warm rivers before dripping onto the floor.

“His isn’t the one I desire.” A sharp blade was suddenly being dragged across his throat painfully slow, however, it wouldn’t be a weapon; demons preferred to do all hand work since blades and guns alike only slow them down.

Stiles couldn’t help but swallow the ball of anxiety in his throat. “Me? B-But I’m not human-“

“How do you think I got this powerful?” The trotting of heels was replaced as the dagger left his throat as she began to walk away. “Taking down immortals is hard to do but the rewards make it worth it. Even better when you marinade it in angst, roast it with the pain of love for well over three thousand years.”

Stiles were, in a word, confused. He had always been told that corrupted immortals hunted humans for their souls were full of emotions, cracks and memories that sweetened them to a point that no other being’s soul could compare. “That’s impossible.” He choked, “You can’t take an immortal’s soul...”

A scratch and a hiss filled the room as the demon struck a match against the wall, illuminating the room with a blue flame. Her clawed fingers placed the match on several candles, filling the room with light. It was then when Stiles managed to get a good look at her.

She was no longer pale, her sun kissed skin showed no signs of the veins that tore through her complexion long ago. Her hair was a set of thick, blonde curls that flowed beautifully over her shoulders, covering her breasts. She looked healthy, her blue eyes shining as if they were a breathtaking lagoon sparkling in the summer sun.

But her face scared him the most because he recognised it; it was no longer the pale skin and bones that he remembered.

It was Kate Argent.

“What...?” He breathed, not being able to string a single thought together. “Kate?”

“Plot twist...” She smirked with a nod. “Yes, ‘Kate’ is one of my many names. I was quite hurt you didn’t recognise me before, but then again I was hiding in a family of mortals so who would?” She pouted, strutting forward to crouch in front of the boy. “I’m no longer that weak, scavenging mess from centuries ago. This...” She gestured to herself, seemingly no longer sickened by her appearance. “Is what happens when you eat your brothers and sisters, Stiles?”

“It’s impossible.” He repeated. “Our souls are locked away, not even a reaper can get to them.” He growled he didn’t want to play mind games, he knew that it was impossible to take an immortal’s soul.

“Well I have a set of bolt cutters.” She shot back with a confident smile on her pink lips. “You just have to break a few chains ET voila...a soul that is free for the taking. I mean...” She shrugged, standing up once again and crossing her arms. “Its hard work and the side effects for the subject are terrifying but it’s all worth it in the end.”

“Side affects?” He questioned, his voice was shy, small and weak because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Well, first the memory goes.” She turned around, counting the side effects in her clawed fingers. “You forget who you are or what you’ve done- Hell you may even forget that you’re immortal. Secondly...the healing goes. You wouldn’t be able to heal a paper cut. Thirdly, the fatigue from centuries of build up just consumes you...” She looked over her shoulder, her blonde hair falling down her back, “That’s the most common set. Come to think of it...” She paused, a smile on her lips as she turned to look down at the boy once again, watching closely as if she was going to miss something. “That’s what I watched Claudia go through.”

Stiles’ eyes widened, his mouth becoming slack in shock but soon tightening in anger as he tried to lunge forward to attack the beast in front of him, but the pinpricks of excruciating pain brought him back down to reality from the dream of murdering this monster. “You bitch.” He gritted out.

“If it makes you feel any better, she wasn’t worth it.” A shit eating grin was plastered on her face as she confidently folded her arms with a small shrug as if she was talking about the weather.

 “Yeah?” He growled.  “How so?” he breathed heavily through his nose as he tried to control his anger; he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him angry and knowing she caused it.

A wide grin tore across her face, displaying pearly white, sharpened teeth. Her eyes were aflame with venom as she began to walk backwards to the open metal door of the cell. “She tasted disgusting.”

And with that, she left, bolting the door behind herself with the echoes of her heels clicking against the cold, stone floor that resided under Stiles’ knees.

And for the first time in a while, the immortal bowed his head and cried into the cobblestones.

 

_-_-_-_-_

 

“What do you mean that Stiles is gone?” John asked over the phone.

Derek sighed as he wiped his hand over his face tiredly. “I mean he wasn’t there when I woke up. His scent took me downstairs but it just suddenly vanishes.”

“And there’s no note? He hasn’t called or texted you?” John asked, his voice filling with panic, he knows what is lurking in the shadows of the town. He knew all too well about the evil in his race and town.

“Nothing.” Derek shook his head, eyes looking around the living room once again to try and see if he had missed something. “But there’s water on the floor, I have no idea where it came from.” Panic was edging into his own voice now.

“Perhaps a burst pipe?” Scott called from behind him, walking over to the couch to move it effortlessly, spying underneath it to try and find signs of a leaking pipe under the floor boards. But all that the werewolf found was a book marked with a word he had never seen nor heard of before. “What the-?” he whispered to himself as he reached for the book that was near sopping wet in the water, it would have been ruined if it wasn’t for the plastic coverings keeping all the photographs on the pages.

“What is it?” Derek asked. John was silent on the phone as he too waited for an explanation.

“It’s a book.” He shrugged, turning it around in his hands only to run a finger across the word on top of it before opening it. “Well, photo album- looks more like a journal with all the writing in it- maybe the kidnapper left it here?” his voice was riddled with hope, thinking that it’d be that easy to get his best friend back.

“It’s a photo album.” Derek relayed to John, taking it from Scott and trying to pronounce the word on the front, John only sighed and said it back perfectly.

“And you say this book was in the water?” John asked, his words wavering with anxiety. “And does the water lead to the front door?”

“Yeah the carpet was soaked...” Derek was confused, looking over his shoulder to check again.  Setting himself down on the sofa, curiosity got the better of the werewolf, he opened the book in his lap; he needed to do something with his hands and put his mind on something else, because he was going to lose his mind with Stiles gone. He felt as if a part of his soul had been ripped out when he realised Stiles was missing with no explanation.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible. Don’t go anywhere.” The sheriff ordered before hanging up making Derek blink in confusion.

“Derek?” Lydia entered from the hallway, making Derek close the book. Her face was consumed with worry; her hands were shaking making it difficult for her to hold onto the vile in her hand. “I tested the water on the floor and it matches with the frost covering the streets...”

“So...” Derek’s eyes widened with panic. “You think that whatever has been spreading frost and ice down the street has taken Stiles?”

Lydia could only nod. “It shares all the same elements- it’s poisonous and everything. This is not normal water.” She gestured to below her feet, the sopping carpet squelching under her movements.

“Well I guess there’s only one thing that could’ve taken Stilinski.” Jackson crossed his arms, rounding the corner from the kitchen. Everyone looked at him expectantly. “Jack Frost.” He shrugged with a smirk as everyone groaned. “Do you even listen to yourselves? Frost? Chemicals? Plus...Stiles was taken, okay? Stiles! Who’d want to take him anyway?” Jackson laughed bitterly. “He’s just human.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Peter sang from his space lightly dosing in the arm chair. “When I was alpha...” He yawned as he stood up, stretching a little before circling around the group slowly, his eyes landing on Derek with a playful smirk. “I still have no hard feelings about that by the way,” He sassed. “I could sense that Stiles was different; his blood smelled different compared to any other human, more sweet and...well it just didn’t seem normal.”

“Why should we listen to this?” Scott rolled his eyes, “For all we know you could’ve taken Stiles and you’re just trying to throw us off your trail.”

“Oh?” Peter smirked, turning to his ex-beta. “If you don’t believe me, ask Derek. He has sensed it too.”

The pack turned to the Alpha expectantly, their eyebrows knitting together as they tried to decipher the look on Derek’s face.

Derek wasn’t looking at any of them; he only stared down at the album in his hands, running his fingers over the glossy photos that littered the pages.

His mouth was wide as he touched a black and white photo holding a smiling Stiles whose arms were wound around a slightly taller and bearded man. They were dressed in suits completed with top hats; Stiles even had a cane in his gloved hands that was around the waist of the man. It sent a shock through his being seeing them together like this: Stiles looked so happy and the man that stood next to him looked even happier. The man looked familiar but he couldn’t place his finger on it, he just blamed the thick beard clouding his features.

He flicked through the pages that were plastered in photographs, every now and then a coloured one would appear, easing the monochrome look into one of colour. Each and every photo held Stiles with what looked like the same man which was impossible if the labels were anything to go by.

May 12th 1901, March 30th 1950...

‘Me and David at the Eiffel tower... me and Daniel in London...’

The pages seemed to go on forever until Derek reached the final page which held a single picture of the pack that he didn’t even know existed. It was from one of their pack nights where Stiles begged to marathon Star Wars and to which they all reluctantly agreed. The photo held smiling Stiles (again) taking a selfie of the group interlocking with each other. Erica’s head was on Boyd’s lap with her legs draped over Isaac whose hands were wound around Scott’s shoulders. Scott was sitting on the floor with Allison between his legs. Lydia and Jackson was the only pair not in the long chain of teenage werewolves, sharing an armchair in the corner of the room. Derek was staring at the TV with a rare smile on his face.

‘Me and my new tribe’ the caption read.

Derek was confused and that was an understatement. He had no idea why or how Stiles could have any of these pictures. They looked real, no tampering or anything, unless Stiles was king of Photoshop but-

“Derek.”

The wolf looked up with tears in his eyes, looking from Lydia to Scott who was shaking his shoulders to try and bring him out of his trance.

“Is it true?” Lydia questioned, her eyebrows rising in question. “Is Stiles human or not?”

It wasn’t clear at first but Derek had noticed that Stiles’ scent was different to that of a normal teenager. Yes, his scent still held lust, sweat and sugar from all the candy he ate but it also held something he couldn’t put his finger on, something that he knew just couldn’t be human.

“I’ve...had my suspicions.” He nodded slowly, closing the book in his lap. “He always had this scent following him around...one I couldn’t quite place...” 

“Like Earth?”

The group hadn’t even heard the door open or the Sheriff walk into the living room. His eyes were red as if he had been crying, his bottom lip quivered as he leant up against the door frame of the room, staring at the group with such a heart broken gaze.

“What?” Derek asked, a little taken back by the Sheriff’s appearance, he wasn’t sure what he expected really, the man’s son was missing after all.

“His scent.” His gaze turned to the Alpha’s, his eyebrows creasing. “It smells like a forest. Rocks, soil, trees...the whole shebang, right?”

The werewolf’s eyes only widened as it was a perfect fit to describe Stiles’ scent; he smelt like the woods after it had rained, with the water coursing through the canopy of leaves before flying to kiss the earth and give life to it. Stiles was life. He nodded at the man silently.

John only let out a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “That’s us you see... “He sobbed, hobbling into the room and perching on the arm chair with his head hanging in his hands. “Back in fifty seven a leader of ours used science to try and explain what we are.” Another bitter laugh, “one of the things they found out was that we leave the element of calcium wherever we go.”

“Calcium?” Lydia asked. Derek could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she realised something.

John nodded, his hands coming up to wipe the tears away from his eyes, with his answer Lydia left the room, striding out the open front door, presumably to her car.

“And what are you exactly?” Derek asked slowly, the last thing he wanted was to overwhelm the man. He needed a soft voice and space right now as they tried their hardest to find Stiles.

John suddenly snorted, a smile spreading across his face before giving a broken laugh to the pack. “We don’t even know... all we know is that we can’t die. We’ve been around for centuries. Healing every bullet and knife wound, evading every disease outbreak and pulling the strings behind the scenes of many civilisations.”

The room was silent save for the breaths of the pack and the sobs from John. They were all screaming inside at the fact that the supposed ‘normal’ Stilinski family was weirder than all of them put together. But they can react later, when Stiles was safe.

“So... you’re immortal?” Scott asked slowly as if he was still trying to process the information in his head before accepting it. 

John only nodded into his hands, a grimace on his features as he was reminded about his curse.

Suddenly, Lydia sped through the door with her heels squelching as she strode down the soaked carpet saturated with water.

“You said Calcium, right?” She asked, clearly going somewhere. “Would there be any of your kind that left Calcium Arsenate behind?” She held out an open note book with a list most likely showing what the water contained.

John took the book with slow and shaking hands. His eyes skimming over the book in his hands, “This was in the frost and the water?”

Lydia nodded. “Calcium Arsenate is an inorganic compound, it doesn’t naturally occur unless something makes it. It’s highly toxic and is used in pesticides-“

“What does it smell like?” John asked suddenly, looking up at Lydia from the chair with a look of determination on his face.

“Well...” Lydia shrugged, “Rotten eggs, bad breath or death...”

John took a sharp intake of breath, standing suddenly and carding his fingers through his hair worryingly. “The corrupted ones- the demons...” He corrected. “They smell like death, they’re toxic they...they consume mortal souls in order to gain power.”

“Wait.” Jackson rolled his eyes, sucking on his teeth in annoyance but the whole pack knew this was an act; he was terrified over losing Stiles just like the rest of them. “If they eat mortal souls, what would they want with an immortal one?”

Johns gaze briefly flicked from the boy to Derek then back again, a frown playing on his lips and he shrugged. “I’m not sure.” And if anyone picked up the jump in his heart beat they didn’t say anything.

“Can we find Stiles by the chemicals left behind?” Derek asked, his hands absentmindedly running over the book in his hands. John could only watch him do so with his body consumed in worry for the wolf.

“It’s possible...” Lydia nodded, “With such high concentrations of the compound I doubt that it was legally applied to anywhere in town-“

“So we’re looking for a high death rate of plants with seemingly no reason?” John suddenly spoke up, his eyes being torn away from Derek’s actions.

Lydia nodded again, “It’s common in small dosages but you need permission to use it at the concentration I’m seeing.”

“So... it could cause a whole field of crops to die with no explanation?” the sheriff asked, his voice cracking with anticipation and a knowing smile spreading onto his lips.

“Yeah, where are you going with this?”

“No time to explain.” The sheriff was walking out of the room before any of them could register what was going on. “Follow closely behind me. I know where Stiles is.”  


-_-_-_-_-_-

“They’ll come for me you know.” Stiles sobbed, his head resting limply against the pipe as he tried to keep his eyes open through all the blood and bruises swallowing up the amber inside them. “They’ll come for me and they will rescue me.”

Kate only smiled above him, toying with the knife in her hands, running it over her fingers with no worries as wounds did not run behind the blade. She was taunting him with her power: the power she was gaining from him with each passing second.

“Really?” She asked, dropping down to come face to face with him once again.

“Yup.” He smiled wide, showing off his blood stained teeth and trying to sound smug between each of his laboured breaths. “No dinner for you tonight... they will come before you break me...bet you weren’t expecting me to be rescued...”

He was expecting her to frown, spit at him in disgust for even suggesting her downfall- anything negative. He was hoping to see a flaw and a hope that he could break free and escape. But her smile turned into a smirk as she leaned in closer, her breath reeked causing him to wince at her close proximity.

“On the contrary...” She whispered, her breath dangerously chilling next to his ear riddled with blood. “I was counting on it.”

She fell back onto the floor until she was sitting cross legged in the centre of the metallic room, surrounded by a ring of candles flickering in the damp atmosphere. “Thing is, sweetie...this is me just having fun. The only reason you’re alive now is because I’m allowing it.”

She leant forward to drag her fingers through the thick pool of blood below Stiles, painting various shapes and patterns in the puddles on the floor, smiling as she watched them turn a dirty red. Kate’s frost bitten eyes then looked up to stare into the dying fire of Stiles’ own. “You’re bait. You see... my plan is to make you suffer- make you even sweeter, “She paused to lick her lips slowly. “Then when your Duamu-whatever his name is, comes to save you...I’ll slit your stomach right in front of him. Watch him plead for your life first, of course. But no, I’m going to make him watch as you die.”

 She crawled forward on her hands and knees through blood as she saw Stiles wince at her words, smirking as tears began to crawl down his face. Her eyes were blown wide filling Stiles’ heart with terror. “I’m going to watch as he holds you as you die. I’m going to laugh as the light leaves your eyes...” She laughed breathlessly, her face so close once more. “Ask me why I’ll laugh... go on...” She giggled as if she couldn’t keep the punch line of a joke secret.

Stiles tried to manage his breathing; he tried to stop himself from going into a panic attack as he closed his eyes and turned away. He wasn’t going to like her answer. “W-why...will you laugh?” He asked shakily, gulping in breaths as he prepared himself for the answer that would undoubtedly allow a panic attack to overcome his senses.

The fit of giggles erupted into full blown maniacal laughter, causing the blonde to collapse on her back, rolling in the blood and kicking her legs in the air like a child. “Because...” She stopped for a moment to regain her breathing. “When the light leaves your eyes, Stiles... Derek will remember.”

Stiles felt a familiar twinge in his nose and beneath his eyes, taking in a sharp breath as he tried not to cry. He creased his eyes, bit his bottom lip and tried to block out the sickening slaps and throaty laughter from Kate.

“He will remember everything!” She screeched. “How great is that? He will remember each and every time he fell in love with you. He will remember every time he let you down... after all you’re just a kid right?”

“Shut up.” He bit.

“Oooh...” She smirked, knowing she had hit a nerve. “And you know what’s even better?” She was on her feet now, her hands coated in thick and steadily drying blood took hold of his head, forcing him to look at her directly in the eyes. “He will keep on living... forever and ever... but one day his memories will get too much for him, how he loved you and then let you down... the only one he could ever love taken from him because he was too stupid to see what was in front of him. He’ll beg for me to take his soul...”

“You’re a monster!” Stiles screamed, hoping that with an obvious reaction that she would stop.

“Think about it, Stiles...” She carried on. “All that self hatred and loathing built up over all those centuries... it would taste beautiful.”

“You’ve been planning this?” He breathed in through clenched teeth to try and labour his breathing and control his anger, “All this time?”

She could only shrug, sitting cross legged again and staring at him normally as if she wasn’t covered from head to toe in his blood. “Yup.” She echoed, showing off her blood stained lips.

_-_-_-_-_

“Can you smell Stiles?” John sounded desperate as he stalked behind the pack, his flash light flickering from tree to dying tree as they cautiously made their way deeper into the abandoned farm land.

Derek nodded, not sure if he should mention that his scent was cloaked by the metallic scent of copper and iron. Blood.

His wolf whimpered at the thought of losing Stiles, especially with so many questions unanswered about that book and how it held, what looked like, memories. Stiles was immortal and if reincarnation was possible, all the men in the book could be the same guy, which only made him feel worse about himself; Stiles should be finding the guy with the smile on his face and the arms that embraced him with seemingly no worries.  He was selfish to want Stiles all to himself; he could never hold him like that, in the way he wanted to.

“Are we in danger?” Isaac whispered from besides John, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

John shrugged, “I’m not sure. They usually only go after mortal souls and I’m not sure if werewolves count as mortal.” He looked around the group. “Your guess is as good as mine but they usually have to ask for permission for someone’s soul. I don’t really know a lot, we were always warned to stay away from them and to run if we saw one.”

Boyd snorted, “How polite of them to ask.”

John rolled his eyes with a smile. “Yeah so don’t grant them it.” His smile faltered as he rethought the situation, he had no idea why he was here. Stiles was like his son and he would do anything for him but the boy was immortal, the demons only go after mortals due to their own souls being off limits to about everything.

So he kept telling himself that Stiles would be fine; he couldn’t be hurt.

-_-_-_-

Kate’s head snapped up to the ceiling, her eyes running along the floor boards above them. Her mouth was wide open causing the blood in her mouth to dribble down her chin and down her ruined shirt. “Looks like we have company.”

Stiles could only manage a gargled whimper, his head sagging weakly against his shoulder.

“I better go greet our guests.” She smirked before dropping the knife in her hand. Stiles couldn’t help but watch as it clattered to the floor and when he looked up she was gone.

-_-_-_-_-

 

“Help!”

The whole pack was put on red alert, taking stances to surround the Sheriff so he wouldn’t get hurt. He had insisted on coming when Derek had ordered all the non werewolves to take a step back from the rescue mission, he was immortal so Derek thought it couldn’t hurt; he had faster healing abilities than any wolf but he still didn’t know how to fight.

The voice scratched through the night air filling the pack with chills. “Help me, please!”

A woman came into view, her brunette hair matted with a dark and thick liquid, scratches marred her porcelain skin and tears ran down her pink sundress making the edges a sickening deep red.

“It’s after me!” She was running, her bare feet slapping against the mud and stray bits of stone and concrete.

Scott was the one who broke formation first as he ran to the girl and gripped her shoulders, looking into her blue eyes consumed by fear. Her bottom lips were trembling as he head began to restlessly look in every direction as if something was following her.

“What is after you?” Scott asked calmly, his words slow for her to understand in her panicked state.

“The demon!” She wailed her voice was like nails on a chalk board. It was unholy and consumed by something he couldn’t place his finger on.

“Where is it?” Isaac asked, rushing to her side and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder to take her pain, confused when he couldn’t find any but he shook his head in dismissal; she must’ve had too much adrenaline in her veins to register her pain and therefore he couldn’t take it.  

She turned to look behind her, her eyes still wide and tears were now running down her face. She broke free of Scott’s hold and started to run again, her feet slapping through the night and becoming softer and softer with each passing second.

Derek sighed as he ran a hand over his face and with a roll of his eyes he pointed after the girl. “Scott, Isaac, Jackson.” He barked. “Make sure she’s alright and if you find the demon kill it.”

If any of them protested he must’ve blocked it out because he just carried on walking towards the barn with Boyd, Erica and the Sheriff by his side.

“Derek!” The scream was probably the most heart breaking sound any of them has ever heard. It was full of pain, practically over flowing with it. It was broken, almost like a whimper if it wasn’t for the sheer volume of it.

“Derek! Please!”

“That’s Stiles...” Erica stated, her body becoming cold in realisation, fear overcame her senses and quickened her breathing. “Stil-!”

Derek’s hand quickly slapped over her mouth, effectively swallowing up her scream, “quiet.” He bit out. “We have no idea what is in there or even if it knows we are here.”

Erica nodded as the Alpha peeled his hand off from her mouth, tears resting on her lashes as she couldn’t get Stiles’ voice out of her head. “But Derek,” She frowned, “He sounded like he was in so much pain.”

Derek blinked in grimace; he didn’t need to be reminded that Stiles was in trouble, so much in fact that he was in pain- something that apparently he was not able to feel. “I know.” He nodded. “But we will get him out of there.” 

With that declaration Derek stalked forwards, quickening his strides in panic of what was to come until he arrived at the iron gates of the rusting barn with holes penetrating its body. “The smell gets thicker in here.” He pointed out, nodding to himself.

“And look...” Boyd pointed to the ground where frost was nestled against the metal, its tendrils spreading from the floor all the way around to the gaping holes and door. “It’s definitely here.”

They nodded in unison, took a deep breath and stepped into the shadows that were being cast by the eyesore of a building. Its paint was faded inside and out, a mouldy green only being noticeable in certain places, ones that weren’t consumed by rust.

“His scent gets thicker down here.” Boyd pointed to the south wall.

Erica snorted. “No, he’s down there.” Erica pointed to a corridor to the east.

Derek took in a shaky breath through his nose. They were both wrong; Stiles was underneath them by what he could smell but he couldn’t be too sure. “Let’s split up.”

“Derek I don’t think that’s a good idea.” John interjected.

“Got any better ideas?” Derek shot straight back, impatience clouding his judgement. “I’m all ears, we need to find Stiles and this is the way that we can be sure to cover all directions in a small amount of time.”

John swallowed and stared up at the Alpha, his knees shaking as he couldn’t help but feel over powered by the creature. “Fine... I’ll go with Erica.”

“Is this because I’m a girl?” she raised an unimpressed eyebrow and crossed her arms in anger at the thought of not being trusted to do something for such a stupid reason.

“No...” the sheriff laughed nervously, “It’s so you can protect me.”

Erica could only roll her eyes before motioning for him to follow her into the velvet curtain of shadows that were cast by the rotting wooden walls that blocked the moon from reaching inside them.

Derek turned and gave Boyd a wordless nod and watched as he too walked away.

With only a moment of hesitation, Derek smelt the air around him. He followed Stiles scent and the potent trail of his pain until he was brought face to face with an open and almost inviting set of door that showed a set of stairs leading into a pool of black. With a steady breath, he took his first step towards Stiles.

_-_-_-_-_

“So you knew Cleopatra?” Erica asked her voice full of amusement as the sheriff nodded to each one of her questions. She could still Smell Stiles and his scent was getting thicker and closer with each step that she took. Her arms were braced across the corridor with her manicured hands touching each one; John had one hand on her shoulder and another on his gun just in case they saw the demon.

It wouldn’t do much good but it made him feel safe.

“What?” Eric suddenly stopped. Whispering to herself as her hands began to pad the walls around her and in front of her. “It...ends here.” She stated slowly. She ran her fingers along the wall again but she stopped cold in her motions as her fingers ran along something cold but thick with a horrible texture.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, her voice shaking.

John was quick to his belt to find a flashlight or anything that could show what was in front of them. After fumbling, the immortal found a small keychain on his belt and shone it on the wall.

Frost kissed the back of their necks as a chilling voice read out the message written in blood before them. “Dead end.”

-_-_-_-_-_-

The underneath of the building looked as if someone had been living there for quite a while; there were candle sticks dotted down the hallway, already lit and flickering in the damp air as if lighting the way for him. Whoever had lit them wanted Stiles to be found, Derek had no idea why and frankly he didn’t really care because they were stupid enough to show him the way to Stiles and to the bastard who did this in the first place.

He was going to tear them apart for merely even thinking that they could take away Stiles. He was actually afraid of what he would do to them when the time came, he would probably rip them apart and burn their nerve endings to a crisp. He would be very creative with their punishment.

But all the thoughts of torture froze over as a cold hand gripped his and everything faded to black, the last thing he felt was water hitting his back.

Copper met his nose as if he had run into a solid wall made of the stuff. It made his nose scrunch with distaste and the primitive instincts of his wolf come alive as his fight response activated with a surge of adrenaline through his blood. He was ready to break out of any confinements that he was in.

So when Derek opened his eyes and registered his surroundings he was very confused to find that he was no bound, nor was he in a cage but he was just slumped up against a wall in a room lined with candles and flooded with water.

Just when he thought his luck was growing his eyes landed on Stiles or what was left of him.

The boy was a bloody mess. His arms were shredded as were his legs, his head was lolling to the side and his torso was struggling to expand so he could breathe. By the state of him, Derek knew that it would be hard for him to recover even if he did get him out of there.

Without a moment to lose, Derek scurried forward to the immortal’s side, not even caring if he was kneeling in a pool of growing blood; his hands gently caressed the bruised cheeks of the boy. He winced and bit his lip to stop himself from sobbing as he looked into the dim eyes of the boy that was usually so full of life. He never would’ve thought he would see Stiles like this.

“Derek...” Stiles sounded so broken and so torn up that it made Derek whine.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” He smiled before kissing the top of the boy’s head, crouching to the other side of the pole to try and unwind the barbed wire that bound the boy’s hands together.

“No...” Stiles managed to choke out. “You need to leave...” He wheezed, his head resting against the pipe tiredly. “She can’t hurt you if you leave.”

“Who?” Derek asked, just humouring Stiles’ drunk-on-pain babblings caused from losing too much blood.

“Me.”

The werewolf peeked out from behind the quivering mess that used to be Stiles. His sobs became louder and his voice sounded like a broken record repeating the phrase: ‘please don’t hurt me’.

What he found was grinning Kate Argent wearing a familiar pink and tattered blood stained dress. Her legs were splattered with blood, her bare feet was encrusted with it while various bloody hand and fingerprints painted her arms.

“What happened to my pack?” Derek growled out through fangs, now standing up in front of Stiles. She didn’t even look fazed, she just kept smiling.

“What?” She faked a gasp. “Not even a hello? Derek we really need to work on your manners.”

“Yeah.” He cocked his head to the side with a smirk to match hers, “I may end up like you and accidently burn a house to the ground.”

She chuckled at that, slowly pulling up the edge of her dress to reveal sun kissed thighs with stainless silver knives strapped to each one. Derek gulped at her weaponry.

“Good times.” She whispered with a wink. “I did what I needed to do to sweeten my meal.” She glanced briefly to the boy on the floor.

“So, what?” Derek shrugged, stepping forward towards the blonde that was now twisting the blade between her fingers. “You’re an immortal? Like Stiles?”

Kate only nodded, her eyes becoming more luminous through the dim light as he smile spread across her cheeks. “Yes, but not entirely like my friend Stiles here because I give in to the whispers of power... I am power.”

“Is that so?” Derek questioned, claws spouting from his finger tips painfully slow as if to warn the blonde skirting around the circular room.

“Yep,” She nodded, taking a step forward and taking great pleasure from the look of shock on Derek’s face. “I eat really healthy and so I grow up big and strong.”

The wink that followed her statement pissed Derek off to no end, but what made him lunge and plunge his claws into her throat was the fact that she looked at Stiles with such a hungry look that made her look like a starved beast.

She didn’t even gasp or look shocked or anything.

She just leaned in close, overpowering him easily with the same smile still on her lips as she whispered: “whoops.”

Derek was confused until he heard Stiles gasp in pain, he turned with fear in his eyes to see Stiles with the small dagger lodged in his stomach, blood slowly bubbling past it as stiles began to choke and writhe in his position on the floor.

“I’ll be seeing you, Derek.” And with that said, the warmth and pulse surrounding Derek’s fingers vanished leaving him alone with a gasping Stiles, his eyes blown wide in fear as Derek approached him. From the look in their eyes it appeared that both boys’ didn’t want to go to the other. Derek didn’t want to reach out for Stiles because it would confirm his worst dreams of his love dying in his arms again. Stiles wanted Derek as far away from him as possible so he wouldn’t see the familiar look in his eyes.

But Stiles never did get what he wanted.

Derek crumbled to the ground in front of him, his claws effortlessly tearing through the barbed wire and peeling it slowly out of Stiles’ wrists. He brought the broken boy to his chest and spread his hands over the boy’s skin to try and take his pain; tears pricked his eyes from the amount surging through the boy.

“You need to go.” Stiles gritted out, sobbing into the man’s t-shirt before babbling in a language that Derek had never heard him speak.

“I’m not leaving you.” Derek growled out at the mere thought of leaving Stiles, anger racking his body at the boy thinking that he would. “We’re going to help you, okay?” Derek couldn’t help but let the tears slip down his cheeks as he wiped the blood matted hair out of the boy’s eyes only to see that the light in them was fading fast and he was helpless to stop it.

“I’m dying, Derek.” Stiles wheezed as his throat started to constrict and dry up with each hoarse breath that was lucking to escape his crumbling body. “This is it for me.”

“No.” The alpha shook his head, bringing the boy closer to him to plant another kiss on his forehead. “I’m not losing you. Not now...”

“I’m so sorry...” Stiles sobbed. “For everything...I made that deal with her to keep us together...”

Derek hated that Stiles’ heart was slowing down with its dull thumps barely meeting his ears.

“What?” He whispered. “What do you mean?”

A sad smile spread across the boy’s chapped lips, his eyes looking up to meet the forest green that he would never tire of. “My love...” He grunted in pain as he raised a shaky hand to cup Derek’s stubbled jaw. “I have loved each and every one of you and I have cherished every moment that we spent together.” His smile broke when he let out a sob that sounded more like a laugh, “and I don’t regret the pain nor the heart break for I got to ...meet ...you...” Stiles began to gargle, his throat becoming full with his life’s blood making him turn his head and choke until it had left him completely.

“What...?” Derek’s eyebrows creased together as he tried to make sense Stiles’ gargled words. “You made a deal?”

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes slipping shut tiredly as his body began to shut down. “To keep us together...” His voice began to get lighter and croaky. “I have loved you for over two thousand years- different versions of you and I will never stop...please remember this when...when it happens...”

Derek huffed in confusion, “When what happens, Stiles?”

“I’m so sorry...” The dying immortal wheezed, “I’m so sorry for all the pain you’ve been through and that...I won’t be there the help you through that...”

“Stiles you’re not going anywhere...” Derek whispered in the boy’s ear. “I love you too much to allow that.”

Derek tried to stop the quake that scratched down his back from the sickeningly sweet and at peace smile on Stiles’ face, tears were nestled on the other’s lashes as he tried to blink them away but to no avail, he wanted to see Derek before he passed into the unknown. “I’ve waited for so long to hear that again...”

Stiles’ head became limp against the hold of Derek’s hand, his heart slowly coming to a stop in the broken cage of his chest. “I love...”

As the light faded out of Stiles’ eyes he could feel the shaking of his broken bones as his love called after him using a name that he had always hoped to forget.

 

 

 


End file.
